


Shaping the Century

by eidheann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, HYDRA wins, M/M, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidheann/pseuds/eidheann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory is fickle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaping the Century

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firethesound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/gifts).



> aarrrgh I don't even know. My brain said "HEY WRITE THIS" and then firethesound said "OMGYES" so I wrote it.
> 
> I'm not terribly sorry. I've seemingly got to post one mindfuck sadfic per fandom. Hopefully this gets it out of my system.

He remembers, but at the same time he doesn't.

Memory is fickle. It comes and goes with each trip to the chair. He doesn't trust it, because he knows none of it is real.

Some memories are straightforward. Convincing his mind that he has the muscle memory needed to operate the gun he is given when he wakes is fairly common. It ensures he's able to eliminate his target in the first shot rather than the second or third. Likewise, when he needs to operate solo for a mission, memories of a location, how to speak the dialect, how to blend in, they make sense.

They come, and when the mission is complete, they go, leaving only the smallest hint of familiarity when he looks back on them. It's only enough to recognize the feeling of memory when another is added.

He's never quite understood why, but sometimes the memories they add aren't straightforward. Sometimes they are… pleasant? He's never understood the motivation behind them. Why does he need a memory of lying on a padded mat, gasping for breath and smiling up at the tiny red-haired woman standing above him? Or of punching a man in a dirty alley, defending another man, smaller—maybe a boy, holding a trashcan lid?

(He doesn't think much about the memory of kissing him after. More than the presence of the other memory, that part doesn't make sense. It causes his body to react in ways that require more time in the chair and further resets.)

His head is full of memories like that, which have no discernable purpose.

Until they do. And he sees the woman with red hair and knows how she fights. Sees the boy from the alley, grown large, holding a shield in place of a lid.

Knows that the memories that had been placed in his head long ago or yesterday were for this. His handlers knew this day would come and wished him to be prepared.

He doesn't know when the memories were given to him. But he knows what they mean. And he spares a moment to be grateful to his handlers when he pulls the trigger.

When he returns, successful, his handler smiles at him. Thanks him for shaping the century. Puts him back in the chair.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://eidheann.tumblr.com/)


End file.
